Heart of Stone
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: And for a moment, all his hopes soared miles high because his Jemma was back and all was well and he wasn't actually going crazy.


A/N: Back and at it with another FitzSimmons story. This contains mega-angst, so beware. This is also not a song-fic. That being said, every single word of the Iko song 'Heart of Stone' screams FitzSimmons to me. So, needless to say it played on repeat as I wrote this. Please, don't kick me out of the fandom for this, and enjoy! Reviews are wonderful creatures :)

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><p><span>Heart of Stone<span>

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><p><em>Can I pry your fingers,<em>

_From everything I say and do? _

_And I just can't forget you,_

_And your heart of stone._

_-Heart of Stone, IKO_

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><p>Chaos. His world was chaos. Not even organized chaos. No, his world was the kind of chaos that ripped everything apart and let all the debris scatter and pile up in places it shouldn't. Or in this case, ripped his mind apart.<p>

Cold. His world was also cold. Or that could've just been because one of the hostiles had cut the lines to the air conditioning on their way to damage all of the other controls. The floor was so cold, linoleum icy to the touch, freezing every point of contact it shared with his body. Not that he paid much mind to that in the first place. His breath that fogged up on the glass wall in front of him was far more interesting. He imagined running his fingers through the vapors and drawing out all the designs he couldn't articulate out loud, creating new formulas for all his theoretical research, tracing the gentle curves and angular slopes of her face, the way her lips bowed just slightly…

"You're better off in here, away from all that mess. Never were one for violence anyway. Science is the ultimate tool, right?"

Jemma's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, startling him. It was so hard to remember that he was supposed to be hiding, to be keeping still, when all his energy was focused on her.

He had to remind himself constantly that this Jemma wasn't real. The real Jemma was gone, or at least she used to be. At the moment, she was somewhere onboard the Quinn jet, somewhere far from where he was hidden away. Because everyone had agreed that that would keep him _safe_. Everyone except himself.

"You're here," Fitz sighed, leaning his head back against the metal cabinets, watching more of his breath slither out in long, white tendrils. "I can _feel_ you. I _know_ that…that you…um…"

He banged his palms against the floor, searching for the word that was stuck on the tip of his tongue. That sensation would never fail to frustrate him - to have his mind so alive but his body revolt against him.

"I know what you mean Fitz," Jemma complied sweetly, placing a gentle, phantom pat on his forearm. "And yes, I am."

The silence afterwards stretched, only the hum of the engines and sound of heavy foot falls lingered around them. Echoes of shouts that were not friendly rang in his ears. They were so close. _She_ was so close.

This Jemma, the one next to him, knew exactly what he was thinking, sometimes even before he did. That was the down side of having his best friend live inside his head: there was no keeping secrets from her. And of course she was going to protest against the ones currently flooding his mind.

"Fitz, you created this oubliette to protect yourself, remember?" she reminded him, talking to him in that patronizing voice that he hated so much. He did not need to be coddled. He wasn't broken. He wasn't fragile. But Jemma plowed right through his irritation. "You couldn't handle my leaving; when Coulson told you, it destroyed all of your progress, so you made a place where you would be safe."

"I know," Fitz replied solemnly.

"With all the damage to your hippocampus as well as to your frontal lobes, it's a miracle you're even conscious," she was growing more and more animated, trying to get him to see her point. "You've come so far Fitz; don't let that count for nothing. If you leave, all of your progress will be wasted."

Every word out of Jemma's mouth was true. He put himself there, in his tiny little hell, as a way to cope with the world he woke up to. He thought that if he had a safe space, somewhere where the entire world just didn't matter – couldn't touch him – then he could get better. But it had only made him worse.

Sure, all of his scans said that he was never going to improve, that he was stuck inside himself for the rest of his life. All the doctors said that he would never be the same again. That the Fitz they knew was gone. That the damage was just too great.

But what they failed to notice was that all his damage was self-inflicted. He was the one who locked himself up and threw away the key. And for a time it worked and he got better. Until they expected him to snap out of his trance and join the real world again. But he did not want to join a 'real world' where his friends betrayed him and left him to die in boxes at the bottom of the ocean. Joining the real world would require waking up and letting go of his crutches. They would make him stand on his own two feet, alone. But he didn't know how to stand by himself. He'd always had Jemma right at his side, and he knew in that moment that he'd always need Jemma. He was off balance without her.

So in his hole he remained.

But as time went on, his hole sunk further, and so did he. His glimmer of light, that faint grasp of the world around him, grew dimmer and dimmer until one day he walked into the lab and couldn't remember what his current assignment was. The next day he couldn't recognize his own cloaking technology schematics. It was only a matter of time before he walked in and couldn't recognize Skye's face. Or Coulson's. Or May's.

Or Jemma's.

He knew after that incident that he had to break out of himself. He had to stop the chain of abuse before he degraded any further.

"But it's the only way I can be…me."

Again, so many thoughts shoved into so few words. He couldn't help but remember that there used to be a time when people had to get him to shut up.

He got to his feet, his emotions dragging him into action as he paced around the space, stealth and vulnerability be damned. He needed out of the lab, needed new air, new thoughts, new ideas. Jemma followed him of course, all the way out of the lab and down the winding hallways, shouting out protests of being seen and his personal safety. She followed him all the way to where he stopped to catch his breath, cheeks red and flustered due to something more than the physical exertion.

"You haunt me. Every second of every day I see you but you aren't – you're not..." he faltered as the words died on his lips. "I wish you were here, but you're not, and it's killing me. I have to know."

"You won't like what you see Fitz. They told you about the last mission. They told you what I have become. You won't be able to stomach the sight of me."

Snippets of conversation between him and Coulson flashed through his sight, a kaleidoscope of words forming incoherent sentences in the shape of skulls and serpents. No matter how hard he wished the memories away, they all came to the same conclusion: Jemma was HYDRA. Coulson said that she attacked him, aimed a gun at his head in a hotel room. She'd turned.

He couldn't believe that; his Jemma wouldn't do that. But as sick as it made him, he knew in his gut that it was true. Because why else would she leave him?

"I know," was what he condensed all those thoughts into.

"I can't take that Fitz."

Fitz looked up at Jemma, her pleading eyes sparkling with tears. It pained him just to think that he was the reason behind those tears.

Could anything he did really break her? Break her as badly she broke him? He didn't know. So he lowered his head and didn't respond, averting his gaze to focus intently on the door in front of him.

"If you leave, if you go in there, you can't come back. You'll have to face the world outside…and it's not safe, not yet."

She sounded so pitiful, so absolutely desperate to keep him where he was. But she was not the one in charge. This was not her decision to make, even if she only wanted what she thought was best for him.

"I have to do this Jemma. It's the only way I can get – I can get – umm…" Fitz insisted, still failing to find the right words.

"Better?" Jeamma supplied with ease, but still voiced her concern as his fist went to enclose the doorknob. "Fitz, you're going to hurt yourself."

He turned the knob.

"I'm sorry Jemma."

The door flew open.

_Goodbye._

He stepped into the room.

"Fitz don't –" she started, but never got the chance to finish. Jemma vanished, her body swirling into color, transforming into a cloud of smoke. Like she was never there in the first place.

When the smoke cleared, there was someone else in front of him in her place. Well, someone's back, but he knew that back, that familiar ponytail, that slight frame and average height. And for a moment, all his hopes soared miles high because his Jemma was back and all was well and he wasn't actually going crazy.

And then reality crashed in and shattered all the delicate walls he spent so long building. Because that familiar back did not connect to a familiar face.

"Fitz," the stranger gasped.

Of course it was a stranger. She looked like Jemma, sounded like Jemma, even moved like Jemma. But the Jemma he knew would never dress in military fatigues. Where were the soft, purple sweater and long dress pants? And the gun, his Jemma would never carry a gun – make them yes, but never carry – especially one aimed at the man that she used to look up to. A man who looked upon the encounter with bated breath.

But most of all, his Jemma would never wear the seal that stood for everything she once tried so hard to fight against.

Where was his Jemma? The one who promised him that they would grow old and gray together? The one that promised him a lifetime of inventions? The one who dragged him off to play heroes with the agents? The one who laughed at all his jokes and made him his favorite sandwiches and finished his sentences even when she was just his illusion? The one he gave his last breath for?

She wasn't there.

And what scared him most of all were her eyes. They were so flat, none of their usual exuberance shining through. He stared her right in the eyes but only saw a stranger.

They became harder to search as they welled up with tears. The gun slipped from her delicate hands, crashing to the ground. He flinched at the sound, but she didn't notice. She looked so stunned, so absolutely taken aback that all her focus had shifted on him, and he felt unbelievably uncomfortable. What came next was strangled laughter, her hands flying to cover her mouth and her disbelief. And then he had to remember that she had left him before he could fully recover. The last she saw of him, he was covered in tubes and could barely spit out his name without stuttering. She had left him for dead and there he was, alive and well.

His head was pounding, a painful current sweeping him under the firing of neurons and exchange of minerals. His hands flew to his temples about the same time she rushed him, grasping onto those hands before they could do him any good.

Her touch shocked him with a sting more powerful than he was ready for. It was unwelcome, and that was the scariest part. His body did not recognize her grip as Jemma's. The skin was foreign, tainted by weapons and chemicals and the scratchy fabric of HYDRA logos. His body was rejecting her.

He pulled his hands away, his fingers slipping quickly through her own. She tried to hang on, but for the first time in a long time, he was too fast.

"Fitz…?" she asked, still reaching out, bewildered as he took four steps back, keeping his distance.

"You were right," he stated blankly, never breaking eye contact with her. His eyes were wide and surely full of emotions that he couldn't comprehend himself at the moment. He was hurt, yes. Confused, most definitely. But other than that, he wasn't sure. He was a giant rollercoaster of messy feelings and bitter despair.

"I was right about what?" Jemma replied, confused, trying to get closer only to have him shy away from her. Every time he moved away, she became more and more distraught. His rejection was tearing her apart.

She was right. He didn't like what he saw, and she couldn't take it.

But neither could he.

So, he stood his ground against his abuser, the one who had held his mind hostage for all this time, and fought back. It was time for him to start healing. Even if healing meant ripping open a wound he knew would leave a permanent scar, ugly and jagged and painful.

"I was better off when you were just my imagination."

Jemma's inhale of breath was audible, as was the sharp exhale that followed. Her lips mouthed a silent succession of no's, but Fitz's expression remained unfazed. His hands were trembling, his lips quivering at the blunt truth. Every bone in his body screamed to go to Jemma, to apologize to her and comfort her and hold her and ignore his own breaking heart and love her – because hell did he _love_ her. But his body was reacting to her like a poison. His body was remembering what his mind was making him forget. The days of torture, of endless waiting for the one person he wanted most, only to have his hopes crushed. Being held prisoner by her memory. Drowning because of her. Everything because of her.

But he would do it all over again. Just not for this ending.

The next minute, Fitz lowered his head and turned his back to the room. He could feel the force of flesh hitting the ground as Jemma collapsed in a pile of sobs; he could see her crumpled reflection in the glass as she cried into her jacket sleeve. He could only imagine how pitiful she looked and how cold hearted he must have seemed. In that moment, he might have even looked like the villain. But he didn't go to her. He could only imagine the look on Coulson's face as he stepped out of the office and left Jemma behind. But that wouldn't make him come back.

However, he could only pretend to be strong for so long.

Fitz could hear her cries all the way down the hall, and it took all of his strength not to fall to his knees and break down right then and there. His world was spinning and it took all of his will to make it back to the sanctity of the lab in one piece. It was there where he sank down against the cabinets and rested his head against them just like he had moments ago. The floor was still cold, the fog was still present. Nothing had changed.

So he turned to the side expecting Jemma to be there, smiling with those bright, intelligent eyes, telling him everything was going to be all right. But she wasn't there.

Only then did he let his tears fall.

It wouldn't be until later that Fitz realized that when he spoke to her, he hadn't stuttered. Not even once.


End file.
